


Sticks and Stones

by injerannie94



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Hookups, Love Story, M/M, Moving across the world, random meetings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injerannie94/pseuds/injerannie94
Summary: “What are you doing?”Mitchell’s eyes met Anders’, blue and confused, a hint of concern and worry there.“That’s my stick.” Yggdrassil. The Tree of Life. So what did it mean for those who were already dead?-----A story of a chance meeting between a vampire and a god. (





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Britchell... has been lingering on my computer for so long and I think I may have to resign myself to the fact that it will likely never get done but thought I'd share it anyway and hope it may inspire someone else! 
> 
> I first thought of this when I thought: what would a vampire do with Ygdrassil? then obviously a whole story started unfolding in my head which is where this came from....
> 
> Set at a particular moment in Season 2 of The Almighty Johnsons when Anders returns, roundabout the time of the episode "Man-Flu" (will all make sense when you start reading!!)
> 
> hope you all enjoy, feedback much appreciated as always :) X

“What are you doing?”  
   
Mitchell’s eyes met Anders’, blue and confused, a hint of concern and worry there.  
   
Mitchell didn’t know what to say. “I don’t really know,” he admitted at last.  
   
“That’s my stick.” Anders voice was carefully level.  
   
Mitchell sighed. “I know.”  
   
Yggdrassil. The Tree of Life. So what did it mean for those who were already dead?  
   
\------  
   
It all started at a bar just outside Heathrow airport. Anders had seen him, taken in his wretched-looking appearance, and proffered his bottle of vodka. “You look like a man who needs a drink.”  
   
 _If only you knew_ , Mitchell thought. _If only I_ were _a man._ But man or not, he could do with a drink, and it wasn’t often that strangers spoke to him – something about his appearance, dark glasses, serious expression, fingerless gloves, maybe made him look like dangerous, or maybe it was something in their genes, some tiny fragment of DNA gifted by evolution that warned them of _danger_ when he was around, like fish around a shark, something in them that made them avoid him for reasons they didn’t even understand.  
   
Mitchell met the man’s gaze, crystal blue and unfaltering, still holding out the bottle of vodka (expensive vodka, he noted, to match the expensive suit and general aura of sophistication around his entire person). He couldn’t possibly know that Mitchell had been coming to this place every night for almost a month, trying to pluck up the guts to leave. He had hurt his friends enough – after what he’d done, they didn’t deserve to be near him anymore, a corruption on this earth and an abuser of the kindness and the faith they had had in him. He’d told them he was going away, promised he’d keep in touch when they insisted, even though he’d hoped he could simply extract himself and vanish as if he and the trouble he’d brought had never been there, bleached out of their lives forever. And yet he couldn’t do it – his bags were packed, his mind was made up, all he needed was a ticket. To where – who knew.  
   
He kidded himself that that was the problem: he didn’t know where he wanted to go when really he knew it didn’t matter - he could go anywhere, should go anywhere, see the world. But still he couldn’t bring himself to leave, knowing that when he came back to England George would be long dead and Annie would have passed on to the place he was locked out of, if only because he was too much of a coward to kill himself and solve all his problems for good once and for all. He wondered if it was the lingering remains of his Catholic Irish mother’s teachings: _to kill oneself is to spit in the face of the Lord and buy a ticket straight to hell_. What was stopping him? He was surely going to hell anyway.  
But there was something different about this man – and Mitchell didn’t think of hell as he walked up to the man and sat down in the barstool next to him. The blond poured a second glass of vodka and slid it across towards him. “I’m Anders Johnson.”  
   
“John Mitchell. But everyone calls me Mitchell.”  
   
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Cheers.” The man raised his glass in a small toast, and downed in one. Mitchell followed suit, barely registering the sting of the alcohol as it burned down his throat. Strong liquor like that used to make his eyes water but since becoming a vampire his senses had dullened to the point that hardly anything registered on his tongue anymore. Except the taste of blood.  
   
“You look like shit and I’ve never even met you,” Anders Johnson commented as he poured them both a second glass. “You got a long stopover?”  
   
“No. Just – picking someone up,” Mitchell lied.  
   
“Fucking saint you are. Picking someone up at the dead of night. If it was anyone I knew, I’d tell them to take a fucking taxi.”  
   
Mitchell chuckled at the man’s brazenness in the face of someone he’d never met. “Yeah, guess I am.”  
   
“Is that an Irish accent I detect, perchance?”  
   
“Yes. And yourself? Australian?”  
   
“God no. I should slap you for that.” Anders looked at him very seriously and Mitchell laughed again. “I’m a Kiwi. Learn your accents.”  
   
“Well maybe next time you should get to know someone better before you tell them they look like shit,” Mitchell retorted teasingly.  
   
“Hush. I am sharing with you my alcohol bought with my hard-earned dosh because I am your friend. Or something like that,” Anders reprimanded, refilling both glasses again. “Well, I’m here on a stopover. A lousy one at that, I’ve been travelling for almost twenty-four hours already, I’m fucking buggered and I haven’t even got there yet.”  
   
“Where are you headed?”  
   
“Norway. Visiting family, back to the roots and all that.”  
   
“I could have guessed from the name,” Mitchell commented. Anders raised his eyebrows, looking comically incredulous.  
   
“You recognize a Nordic name but not a Zealand accent? You have your priorities in the wrong order, my man. To be honest, I’m only here cos my mum sent me.”  
   
“I went to Oslo once. It was feet-deep in snow.”  
   
“And that is precisely why I have never expressed even the faintest interest in going there. Too fucking cold. I’m a Kiwi at heart, man, born and bred. My goddam mother better be grateful when I get back.”  
   
Mitchell found himself warming to this man, or perhaps warming from the steadily rising alcohol levels in his bloodstream. He was charming, in a cocky, cheeky sort of way, but he was quick to laugh too and Mitchell realized for the first time in a long while he was actually enjoying himself.  
   
Perhaps his drunken mind should have been more surprised when they started kissing, first at the bar and then outside – it wasn’t his first time with a bloke, but he’d always thought of himself as more of a ladies’ man than a man’s man. It was harder to place Anders – but one thing was for sure, he kissed like a demon and his fingers were quick and teasing and confident, just like him.  
   
“Don’t you have to pick up a friend?” Anders asked between snatches of air.  
   
“They can take a fucking taxi,” Mitchell replied breathlessly and Anders grinned triumphantly before Mitchell claimed his lips again.  
   
It was a fun night, messing around still half drunk in Anders’ hotel room, one of the plushest suites Mitchell had seen in a long time, not since the opulent days of Herrick. But the destroyed vampire leader was the last thing on Mitchell’s mind as he teased Anders’ clothes off as Anders writhed beneath him.  
   
They never got round to full sex, but did a lot of hot making out. When Mitchell woke, the vague memory of a kiss goodbye clinging to his sleep-fogged mind, he opened his eyes to see daylight pouring in through the white curtains, and Anders’ suitcase was gone. He smiled at the hastily scrawled note on the dresser ( _“Thanks mate, had a blast. Check-out’s at eleven, be my guest to stay til then x”)_ before retrieving his clothes from their various hiding places strewn around the room and heading to an internet café to start developing his latest idea:  
   
New Zealand.  
   
That had to be it. Far away and different enough from England that he could make himself a new life, go clean, properly this time, and finally start to enjoy his existence. He knew nothing about the vampire network down there, and perhaps that was all for the better. Mitchell couldn’t believe the price of the ticket. He had to save for weeks before he could afford one. To tide him over, he picked up a job as a late night taxi driver (inspired by his story to Anders), a job which allowed him to fully exploit his creature-of-the-night natural inclination to be nocturnal; soon he had made enough in tips from cheerful drunks to finally buy himself a place on a flight, departing in early March to take him to his new life. Mitchell still couldn’t believe it until he was in the line for the security check outside his gate, grinning down at his ticket (‘ _Final destination: Auckland’_ ) one more time before leaning down to carefully tuck it back into his bag next to his passport.  
   
“I don’t believe it,” someone laughed, and he turned, finding a pair of remarkably familiar sparkling blue eyes.  
   
“What are the chances,” Mitchell agreed, face splitting into an even wider grin as they embraced ecstatically.  
   
“Following me, are you?” Anders accused lightly, cheeky dimples prominently framing his broad smile.  
   
“Not in the slightest. I had no idea you would be here. How was your family trip?”  
   
“Awful. From now on the furthest north I will ever subject myself is Italy. Almost froze my balls off.”  
   
“Wouldn’t that be tragic?” Mitchell teased.  
   
“Tragic for you,” Anders quipped. Mitchell chuckled.  
   
The sound of the intercom distracted them, the sing-song voice announcing business class passengers to please line up in the Express Boarding queue.  
   
“I guess this is where we part ways,” Mitchell said, as Anders handed in his ticket to the flight attendant, who reviewed it, tore off the stub and recited, “Row 4, window seat.”  
   
“What? You got yourself a ticket in cattle class?” Anders said incredulously. “No, no, no, that won’t do at all. Listen, um,” Anders smiled at the flight attendant, glancing at her nametag briefly. “Brenda. I was wondering if it was possible, if my friend here could get an upgrade, preferably to seat 4b.”  
   
“I’m afraid that seat is already taken,” the flight attendant told him regretfully.  
   
“Brenda, I think you’ll agree…” And then Anders was mumbling something and Mitchell wasn’t sure what was going on but a second later Brenda turned to him, smiling and holding her hand out for his ticket.  
   
“Row 4, aisle seat. Business class. Have a wonderful flight,” she beamed, handing it back, and Mitchell, barely believing what had just happened, followed the pull of Anders’ hand on his sleeve and followed him down the tunnel.  
   
“How did you do that?” Mitchell asked as they boarded the plane.  
   
“Just a little of my irresistible charm. This is more like it, wouldn’t you say?” Anders said, sounding pleased with himself, throwing himself into his plushy seat with a happy sigh. He hailed a passing flight attendant. “Two glasses of something fizzy expensive and alcoholic please. Thank you, you’re a star.”  
   
“You certainly made an impression on her,” Mitchell muttered, as the flight attendant blushed bright red and returned barely a minute later, two glasses of chilled golden champagne in her hands. Anders only smiled and winked cheekily, raising his glass.  
   
“To New Zealand. And going fucking _home_.”  
   
“Amen,” Mitchell said, appreciating the irony for a second before taking a sip.  
   
Mitchell hadn’t been looking forward to the stopovers on the way, but he and Anders had fun. Mitchell had never had the guts to ever set foot in any of the snooty designer shops that seemed to be the only purpose of airports these days, but Anders strode in as if he owned the place, throwing clothes at Mitchell and pushing him towards the changing rooms.  
   
“Auckland is a fashion capital. You can’t be seen dead in the clothes you wear.”  
   
 _Just as well I am dead then_ , Mitchell wanted to joke aloud, but refrained _._ “I like my clothes,” he grumbled aloud instead, opening the curtains of the cubicle and looking down dubiously at his ensemble, an enormous fur jacket and leather trousers that stuck to him like a second skin. “People wear this stuff where you come from?”  
 

Anders cackled at the sight. “Not really, you egg. I just wanted to see you in leather. And, have to say, I think I like it.”  
  
“Did you just call me an egg?” Mitchell clarified.  
  
“Yep. Oh, you have so much Kiwi culture to look forward to…”  
  
At Bangkok, Anders guided them to a spa to relax before the final leg of their trip. Mitchell declined the massage, worrying that a masseur might notice that his skin was a few degrees colder than room temperature and get suspicious, and told Anders he’d meet him in the sauna. He spent half an hour marinating himself in the scented steam room, and they spent so long luxuriating in the jacuzzi that they nearly didn’t have enough time to bake themselves dry in the sauna and almost missed their flight. Mitchell stared out of the window into the darkness, pinpricks of lights knotted together like dew on a spider web all they could see as a city unfolded before them after hours of nothing but endless black ocean.  
   
“Welcome to the land down under,” Anders yawned.  
   
They waited at baggage claim, Anders complaining loudly about how long could it possibly take to chuck a few bags off a plane and onto a moving belt? Mitchell didn’t talk, watching as the carousel finally juddered into life and the first few suitcases started circling – now for the next big step. Settling in.  
   
“Hey, where are you staying?”  
   
“Thought I’d just find a hotel or a something to kip for a few nights before I found my own place or bedsit or something,” Mitchell said with a shrug.  
   
“You can stay with me if you like. I don’t have a spare room, but the sofa-bed’s all yours if you want it.”  
   
Mitchell smiled – he had not been looking forward to saying goodbye to his friend, and would be grateful to save himself a few hundred not spending the first few nights in a hotel. “Thanks. That would be nice.”  
   
“Sorted. And aha, here comes my baggage.” Anders grinned as he pulled two suitcases, a duffel bag, and a rucksack off the belt, one at a time, and dumped them onto a free trolley. He blinked at Mitchell’s single case. “That all you got?”  
   
Mitchell shrugged. “Yeah.” He had found in all his years of living that possessions came and went in a way that true friends and lovers never could.  
   
Anders looked bemused for another second, but he was quickly distracted, turning back to crane his neck at the carousel. “Just one more and we can get out of here.”  
   
They waited until the last of the bags had been released and claimed – all that was left was a small battered-looking cabin bag, forlornly continuing in endless laps around the carousel, looking like a pet who’d been abandoned.  
   
“Are you sure that’s not it?” Mitchell asked.  
   
“Of course not.” Anders frowned. “Hm. Not good.”  
   
They headed towards the lost luggage desk on the far side of the room, but before they could get there they were intercepted by a woman wearing a dark grey suit with the airport logo on it. “Excuse me – Anders Johnson?”  
   
Anders adopted a bright smile. “Yes! Am I to take it I am going to get my luggage now?”  
   
“I’m very sorry sir, but there is a problem with one of your items. We’ll just have to take a closer look at it and ask you a few questions. If you could please follow me just through here.” She gestured to a door behind her, undoubtedly into the deepest bowels of the airport.  
   
Anders huffed. “Is this going to take long?”  
   
“Well, hopefully not sir.”  
   
“Diplomatic airport talk for yes.”  
   
Anders turned to Mitchell. “So hey, I’m probably going to be here for hours. Take my keys. Get a cab and tell him to take you to Meola Place on Melford Avenue. My flat is on the fourth floor, number eleven.”  
   
“I can’t take this,” Mitchell started to protest as Anders pressed his keys and a fistful of foreign-looking notes into his hands.  
   
“You can pay me back when you set up a bank account and all that. Hey, do me a favour and feed my fish? Dawn’s been taking care of him but I know she’s stingy on the poor little guy.”  
   
“Um – ok.”  
   
“Mr Johnson, if you could just come this way – “  
   
“Alright, alright, I’m coming. I’ll see you later,” Anders called over his shoulder, following the uniformed woman into the crowds and out of sight.  
   
Mitchell managed to dodge the random spot-checkers on his way through customs and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address Anders had told him and flopped back in his seat, staring out of the window at the dark city around him illuminated in flashes of street lamps.  
   
Anders lived in the middle of town, and before long the cab had pulled up to a plush-looking glass and concrete building. Mitchell paid and got out, fumbling with Anders’ many keys until he finally found the one to open the broad glass doors, leading into a small plush-looking lobby. The lift pinged open onto the fourth floor and Mitchell walked down the hall, wheels of his suitcase clacking against the floor until he found the right apartment and unlocked the door. He reached around for the lights and clicked them on to be greeted by a modest but stylish looking apartment.  
   
He crouched in front of a goldfish tank, set into the wall next to the kitchen. Two fish, both an attractive shade of coppery orange, stared at him, their buggy eyes almost popping out of their heads as they glanced at him briefly and darted to hide amongst the swaying weeds. Mitchell found a plastic tub with a picture of a fish on it and shook a few flakes of fish food onto the surface of the water. The fish rose from the weeds to nibble at it and, job done, Mitchell straightened up and looked around. So this was home for the next few weeks.  
   
He lowered himself down onto the sofa, testing it, and decided it was comfortable enough to kip on for a few weeks. He realized he was starving, and hunted through the piles of junk mail on Anders’ counter until he found a takeaway menu. Soon he found himself staring at the fish again, tapping on the glass gently. He heard loud footsteps in the hall and the rattle of the door handle, giving him a split second’s notice before Ander strode in, face like thunder.  
   
“They were going to bloody fumigate it!” Anders ranted, seeming to only half register Mitchell’s presence there as he fumed. “Took me on the whole bloody tiki tour of the airport and ‘New Zealand bloody regulations’, what bollocks! Bunch of bastards! I tell you they are _not_ fumigating any hard-earned possessions of mine.”  
  
“Don’t they only do that with biohazards?” Mitchell said tentatively, remembering the extensive customs laws he’d come across during his hours of research in the internet café. but Anders was still fuming.  
  
“It’s fucking souvenir, so what if it’s made of buggering bloody wood? _Stupid_ ” He appraised Mitchell at last, stood in front of the fish tank with his finger against the glass. “You know they hate it when you do that. For them its like the big bad wolf coming to blow their house down. Anyway. Drink?” Anders was already on his way to the kitchen, yanking open a cabinet and pulling out two tumblers and a bottle.  
  
Mitchell straightened up, the phrase ‘big bad wolf’ resonating a little more than it probably should have. “Sure.”  
  
“Cheers. Jetlag is a bitch, you’ll need a good lot of this if you want to sleep at all tonight.”  
  
“I can live with that,” Mitchell allowed.  
  
“Good.” Anders bashed their glasses together and downed his own in one. Mitchell hid a smile behind the rim of his glass.  
  
“I ordered some food by the way – hope you like pizza.”  
  
“You’re a saint,” Anders moaned. “I hate that crap they serve on planes nowadays – even worse than Norwegian food.”  
  
“Not exactly in a good mood are you?”  
  
“Not really. You wouldn’t be either if you had to go to goddam Norway or deal with those shitty customs arseholes at the airport.”  
  
“They were just doing their job.”  
  
“I don’t care!”  
  
“You seem to be very fond of this souvenir,” Mitchell noted as Anders gulped down his second glass of vodka.  
  
“I rather am actually. I think I’m coming down with a cold,” Anders added suddenly, rubbing at his throat and wincing. “Throat feels off. When did you say this pizza would get here?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mitchell slept in the next day, and didn’t even hear Anders leave. He woke up to a note from Anders telling him to help himself to anything in the fridge or the freezer.

Mitchell took him at his word and rooted around until he eventually gave up, turning to the leftover pizza for lunch. It seemed Anders wasn’t a forward planner when it came to cooking. He resolved to find the nearest supermarket and restock the fridge, as the start of his payment to Anders for letting him stay. 

He found an unopened bag of coffee in one of the cupboards and set about making a pot. He held the mug under his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the rich, earthy smell, when there was a rattle of keys outside and the squeak of the door swinging open. Mitchell opened his eyes to see a tall woman with short blonde hair staggering inside, laden with several heavy shopping bags. She stopped short at the sight of Mitchell. 

“Oh,” she said abruptly. “Who are you?”

“Mitchell,” he hastened to introduce himself. “Do you need a hand?”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

Mitchell surged forward to help lug the heavy bags into the kitchen and dump them on the counter. 

The woman pushed her fringe out of her eyes and huffed. “Sorry if I sounded a bit rude. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone here this morning. I’m Dawn.” She stuck out a hand and Mitchell took it. “Anders’ PA and general slave around here. He called me earlier and asked me to drop off a few groceries before he got into the office. Not that he’s been in so far and it’s nearly twelve o clock, but at this point I’ve learned better than to be surprised.”

“Nice to meet you. Sorry, did you say Anders ask you do to his groceries? Is that in your contract?”

“Apparently not but he can be very persuasive.” Dawn rolled her eyes and Mitchell got the impression it was just the last in a string of inexplicable and unreasonable demands Anders made of his PA.

“Would you like a coffee?” Mitchell asked. “You definitely deserve one.”

“Yes please. Milk and sugar, lots of both.”

Mitchell poured out a second mug and Dawn smiled. “Thanks. I must admit this is the first time any of Anders’ one night stands has offered me anything. And I’ve met a lot of them, let me tell you.” 

Mitchell spluttered on his coffee. “I'm not a one night stand. I'm his new flatmate.”

“Flatmate?”

“We met on the plane.” Mitchell decided he would stick to that explanation, not wanting to be branded as just another one of Anders’ one night stands. “I’ve just moved to New Zealand so Anders said I could stay with him for a few weeks til I find my own place.”

“Oh.” Dawn seemed not a little baffled at this show of Anders’ consideration for others. To fill the bemused silence, she took a sip of coffee. 

“Well, that was lovely,” she smiled when her mug was empty. “I’d best be off. I’m meeting someone for lunch - a picnic, of all things. It was lovely to meet you. Welcome to New Zealand.”

“Thanks. Enjoy your picnic.”

“If you need anything at all just call, Anders has my number. Thanks for the coffee!” Dawn sent him a wave and made her way out.

Mitchell smiled to himself as he washed the two mugs and laid them carefully upside down on the drying rack. So far, everyone in New Zealand seemed really nice and friendly. His encounter with Dawn had certainly put to rest any lingering anxieties he had about moving halfway across the world.

He found a laptop and, figuring Anders wouldn’t mind, logged on and started googling banks. He’d need a phone contract too. And a job. He should really start a list. 

He heard another rattle of keys in the doorway, and Anders strode in.

“Hello.”

“Hey.” Anders threw his keys onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a mug. “Thank god, you made coffee.”

“How was your morning?”

“I just found out my mother’s dead.”

“What? That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

Anders made a non-committal noise. Mitchell was struck by the thought that he didn’t seem overwhelmingly sad about his mother’s death when Anders added: “She wasn’t around much when I was a kid. Shot through when oldest brother turned 21. Ugh, anyway, ‘fraid I’ve got to go. Check on my business, if I still have one.”

“Is that your business with Dawn? She dropped by when you were out.”

“Dawn dropped by?”

“Yes. She said she was expecting you there this morning.”

“Stuff, in the way,” Anders said by means of explanation, waving his hands vaguely. “Anyway. You ok? Sorry I’m not around much today, just got a lot of stuff on my plate.”

“Yeah, sure. Just settling in.”

“Alright. As long as you’re ok. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, but I'm sure you figured that one out already.”

“Thanks. Good luck.”

“Hmf. I’ll need it.” The door banged shut behind him.

Mitchell spent the better part of the morning and afternoon surfing the web, trying to find out anything he could about living in Auckland. He made himself a sandwich when his stomach started rumbling and sent off a list of useful links to himself via email. He thought about leaving the apartment to stretch his legs and do a little exploring, but realized Anders had taken his keys with him so he would have no way of locking up or getting back in if he left. Just as he came to that conclusion, he heard footsteps outside and Anders strode in.

“Some keys for you,” he said, and chucked something silver across the room. Mitchell caught it, and saw it was a set of house keys, identical to the ones Anders had this morning.

“Thanks. Can I pay you back for having these made?”

“No need. I just took them off my little brother, seems everyone in my family has a spare set of keys to my apartment. For now, you can just cook me dinner, I’m starved.”

“Of course, your royal bloody highness.” Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Or we could just get takeout again.”

“That’s more like it.”

They scoffed down a Chinese and went to bed early that night. When Mitchell woke up, it was to an empty house and another note from Anders - You know the drill. Fridge is full, see you later. Mitchell decided to take advantage of his new found freedom to do some admin. He got dressed, making sure to lock the door carefully behind him, and took the stairs, making up for the lack of exercise he had recently. 

Two hours later, he returned, feeling distinctly proud of himself. He was now the proud new owner of a New Zealand sim card and an account at ANZ now existed in his name. All he needed now was a job and some money to put in it.

Mitchell was still feeling distinctly pleased with his productive morning when Anders entered, dressed unusually in a pair of jeans and a tshirt, shutting the door quickly behind him. “Got it!” he said proudly, brandishing a long thin package almost as tall as he was triumphantly. 

“Is this your famous parcel back from fumigation?”

“Yep.” Anders started tearing the bubble wrap hurriedly of the mysterious parcel. “But like hell did they fumigate it. Had to rescue it from their evil clutches. And I’m not as flexible as I used to be so it wasn’t as easy. Took a bit of stealth too.”

Mitchell opened his mouth to say something but changed tack when Anders tore the last piece of wrapping off the parcel, grinning proudly. 

“All of that for a bloody stick?” Mitchell asked incredulously.

“It’s not just a stick,” Anders retorted defensively. “It’s an heirloom.”

“I thought you said it was a souvenir.”

“Whatever.” Anders disappeared into his bedroom and came back without the stick.

“You’ll get in more trouble if they find out you stole it,” Mitchell pointed out.

“Not as much trouble as if they fumigated it, believe you me.” Anders sighed happily as he shoved his keys back in his pocket. “Can’t stay long, I’m afraid. My brother’s in hospital.”

“In hospital?” Mitchell’s eyebrows shot up. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. He was on the brink of death an hour ago but it looks like he’s made some kind of miraculous recovery, at least according to the text from Mike. I dunno, modern medicine, beats me. Anyway, see you later, I’ll bring takeaway!”

“What was the point of getting dawn to bring all that food into the house if you’re not even going to cook any of it,” Mitchell muttered, nonetheless smothering a small smile.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn’t take Mitchell long to decide he liked New Zealand a lot. In his long life he had never been to this part of the world and he wondered why. Anders showed him the ropes of Auckland life, and took him on days out to see the sights. When Mitchell said he’d be fine on his own and queried about the number of days off he was taking, Anders just shrugged. 

“I thought you worked,” Mitchell teased. “In fact, I thought you owned your own company.”

“I have a wonderful secretary called Dawn. She doesn’t mind if my appearances are sporadic.”

“Are you forgetting I’ve already met Dawn?”

“Oh yeah.”

“She really must be wonderful to put up with you.”

Mitchell was keen to start standing on his own feet. He had started looking around the area for pubs or hospitals he could work at. As luck would hav it, everyone he spoke to was very nice but it seemed that Auckland had no shortage of cleaners or hospital porters or construction workers.

“Your city is shockingly well-stocked with menial labour,” Mitchell told Anders.

“Well if you’re looking for employment, I could always hire you. There’s only me and Dawn, but we could use an intern.”

“I’m a little old to be an intern,” Mitchell said before he could stop himself. He froze, beer halfway to his lips.

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re what, twenties? Thirties max?” 

Twenty-four forever or almost two hundred. Take your pick. “Something like that,” he mumbled. Realising that acting suspicious would be a surefire way to incite suspicion, he forced himself to put his beer down as nonchalantly as he could. Anders hadn’t noticed a thing – and why should he, Mitchell chided himself, after all, he didn’t look a hundred.

“Twenties is nothing, you get interns much older than that. What if I said you’d get paid, would that make it more acceptable?”

“Fuck off I’d get paid! Of course you’ll pay me,” Mitchell laughed, spirits rising.

“You’d be surprised how many come rushing in happy to do work for nothing just for the ‘experience’,” Anders told him seriously, fingers sketching quote marks in the air around the last word. “Honestly, it’s a cruel world this generation has come into. But great for business,” he added gleefully.

“You nasty man. Exploiting the youth, you should be ashamed.”

“The youth always gets exploited, it’s part of life. And it’s good for them, character-building. So what do you say? Want a job?”

Mitchell felt a slow smile creeping up his face. “If it’s paid, why not.”

“I’ll need to see a little more enthusiasm than that,” Anders reprimanded. “Try again.”

“How about this?” Mitchell leaned over and kissed him hard.

“Sleeping with the boss… A bit cliché but I can deal with that.” 

They had sex on the sofa, and afterwards Anders cuddled into his side and pulled out a bag of tobacco from underneath the sofa cushions. They shared a cigarette and, still too comfortable to put their clothes on, turned on the TV, alternating between laughing at the stupid soaps and exchanging lazy smoky kisses. 

The doorbell buzzed. They ignored, but after the third ring, which seemed to last forever, Anders groaned laboriously and got sullenly to his feet. Mitchell grinned after him, shaking his head, as he padded to the buzzer and pressed the speakerphone irritably. 

“What do you want?”

Mitchell didn’t hear the crackly voice, but heard the buzz and click as Anders let them in. He got to his feet and stretched, a minute later there was a knock at the door. Mitchell dived for cover as Anders, now clad in a bathrobe, opened the door.

“Hey Anders.” The tall man raised his eyebrows at the sight of Mitchell, naked but for a towel around his waist. “Sooo… slept through all the women in Auckland and moving on to the men?”

“Thank you, Axl. Mitchell, meet my delightful little brother. And this is my other brother, Ty.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mitchell shook hands, one hand clutching tightly to the towel around his waist. 

“Pleasure,” Ty smiled briefly at Mitchell. 

“Feel free to help yourself to beer by the way,” Anders called to Axl, straightening up from the fridge.

“Just did, thanks,” Axl smiled smugly, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. 

“We’re here to pick you up,” Ty said pointedly to Anders.

“What for?”

“Mike’s called a family meeting.”

“Classic Mike. Just when I was starting to revel in the fact that I hadn’t seen his ugly face for almost a week. Almost a record.” 

“Anders.”

“Alright, I’m coming. I’m guessing there’s some kind of important family business.”

“As always.”

Anders huffed. “Fine. Am I allowed five minutes to get dressed or that too much to ask?”

Anders didn’t wait for an answer but flounced into the bedroom, leaving Mitchell, Axl and Ty in the living room. A slightly awkward pause followed, Ty smiling slightly mechanically, Axl diverting his full attention to his beer. Mitchell was very aware of his naked chest, and the thin layer of fluffy fabric separating him and his modesty from Anders’ two younger brothers. 

Anders re emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed and straightening his cuffs. “Best not keep his Holiness waiting,” he suggested sardonically, heading straight for the door. “See you later, Mitch.”

“See ya.” The door clicked shut behind the three of them.


	4. Chapter 4

They’d been kissing and cuddling and living together for almost a month before Mitchell made his second mistake.

They were making love, a not entirely unusual pastime of late, although making love was perhaps the wrong phrase – they were fucking or as Anders insisted on calling it, ‘rooting’, a word which always made Mitchell purse his lips and one which he refused to say because the lingering old-fashioned part of him thought it sounded crude. Anders was hot and tight around him and his fingers were digging into his hips, urging him faster with breathy moans and lascivious whispers, sweet dirty words he could barley hear driving him crazy.

“Anders,” he tried to pant, but he couldn’t, he didn’t have the air to spare as he pressed his lips to the dip under Anders’ Adam’s apple, laving the hollow with his tongue, feeling the soft vulnerable skin of Anders’ throat caressing his lips, the soft give of it as his teeth punctured skin –

“What the fuck?” A hand on his chest pushing him back, another going to his neck, pulling back to see blood as Mitchell tore himself away. Anders stared at his hand, bewildered. “Am I bleeding?! What the –“ 

“Jesus,” Mitchell whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What just happened? Did you – did you bite me?” Mitchell didn’t speak, Anders probing gently at the wound with his other hand wincing, still staring at the blood coating his fingertips. “You bit me,” Anders confirmed softly. “What are you?” 

Of all the questions Anders could have asked, that wasn’t the one Mitchell was expecting, but he supposed he’d never get as good an outlet.

“I – I’m a vampire,” he admitted.

Anders’ eyes widened. Mitchell prepared for the worst – screams, terror, how could you or worst of all I don’t believe you. Instead, Anders said: “No way.”

“Yes way,” Mitchell replied, stumped as Anders’ jaw dropped. “You – you’re not – acting quite how I expected.”

“Well, vampires. That’s pretty cool. Prove it.” Anders delivered the last two words so casually Mitchell could barely believe his ears.

“Prove it? Other than the fact that I just bit you?”

“Yeah. How do I know you’re a real vampire? Not just some kinky bitch who likes to bite in bed?”

Mitchell bared his teeth, feeling them elongate into deadly sharp canines as he let his eyes bleed to black. He enjoyed a tiny success at the look of shock on Anders face for a second before he returned his eyes and teeth to normal, barely suppressing his smirk.

“Okay… maybe you are telling the truth.” Anders swallowed and Mitchell laughed. 

“Sorry if I scared you. Want to see something else?”

Mitchell pulled Anders to his feet and dragged him to the bathroom. He steered him in to the mirror and stood next to him. Anders gasped and then laughed he caught sight of the glass, showing only his own, solitary reflection. 

“Is that why you won’t shower with me? And why you never let me brush my teeth at the same times as you? Here I was thinking you just had freakishly private bathroom habits.”

“It’s a much darker secret,” Mitchell admitted.

“Is this why you dress so horribly? Because you haven’t been able to see your reflection for years?”

“Of course not,” Mitchell scowled.

Anders grinned, then winced as he looked back at the mirror, touching the still-bleeding wound on his neck, tracks of blood starting to dry as they dripped down his chest.

“Agh. I hate blood.”

“Sorry, again, I’m so sorry,” Mitchell babbled. He pushed Anders gently down to sit on the closed toilet seat and pulled out the first aid kit. He was relieved to see that the cuts weren’t deep – neck wounds just tended to bleed a lot so had a tendency to look a lot worse than they really were. He rolled his eyes fondly at Anders’ small, exaggerated whimpers of pain: he could tell Anders would be milking this experience to guilt-trip him into doing chores around the house for weeks.

“So if you’re a vampire, do you want to drink my blood?” Anders asked in the silence as Mitchell dabbed carefully with disinfectant around the small puncture marks.

Mitchell’s hand stilled. “A little,” he admitted. “Well… It’s not…” He didn’t think Anders needed to know that the sight of blood was enough to send him into a frenzy, how he used to work in a hospital because of how easy it was to steal blood samples when he was really desperate and knew if he didn’t satisfy his thirst someone else would die for his need, only the latest in the string of hundreds he had killed, more people than Anders had ever met. He especially didn’t need to know how hard Mitchell found it to control himself during intimacy, how the two passions tended to bleed together until his lover inevitably became his meal. He’d been holding his breath ever since the first tang of blood hit his tongue to quell the unstoppable rush for more it provoked, but now he opened his airways to take a tentative experimental sniff. “That’s strange,” he realized. 

“What’s strange?”

“You smell – different.”

“Mummy always said I was special,” Anders said in a baby voice, forcing a chuckle from Mitchell as he finished sticking plasters on the two wounds. Anders jumped up and went to the mirror to admire his handiwork. He grimaced.

“Urgh, I still hate blood. I guess you don’t though.”

Mitchell forced a laugh, but it didn’t sound real even to him. Anders laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry. Is it hard?”

Is it hard? Mitchell repeated the question in his head with contempt. What part of it wasn’t hard – walking down streets suppressing the urge to tear people’s throats out, being unable to love anyone without breaking more than just their hearts and draining the life-force from them, oscillating between being clean and a murderous hunger machine for almost two hundred years?

Something in his face must have given Anders his answer because Anders gripped his hands apologetically. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. But, there’s something I do have to know -”

“I don’t want to kill people,” Mitchell cut across him, easily predicting what he was about to say. “I’m clean. I came here to be clean, a new slate, so to speak. I left that part of my life and me behind and now that’s in the past. It’s over. I’m never doing it again.” He wondered how many times he had made that vow, and how many more times he would.

“That’s good to know,” Anders said quietly, squeezing his hands. “Anyway, how about we put some clothes on and get breakfast? Dunno about you but I’m starving.”

Mitchell couldn’t give words to the relief that washed over him at Anders’ calm – in fact, he was almost suspiciously too calm, considering Mitchell had just told him he was a bloodsucking monster who had in fact just bitten him. The news that vampires even existed was usually enough to make people faint. Nonetheless, Mitchell followed Anders into their bedroom, where Anders had already started shucking on his trademark dress shirt and slacks.

“So do you get any freaky powers as a vampire?” Anders asked conversationally, finishing his last button.

Mitchell sighed ruefully, poking his head through the neck of a jumper. “I wish. Apart from slightly superhuman strength and not really needing to breathe, not much. No flying, no turning into a bat at will, no telekenisis.”

“No hypnosis?”

“No.” Mitchell glanced at him sideways. “That’s a weird thing to ask.”

Anders looked guilty. “I guess you’re not the only one who’s been hiding things.”

“What could possibly worse than the fact you’re a vampire?” Mitchell asked, half laughing.

“The fact that you’re a god,” Anders replied in all seriousness. Mitchell blinked at him, then burst out laughing.

“What?” Anders looked hurt. “You are living proof that vampires exist and yet –“ 

“Technically not living proof,” Mitchell corrected him. “And it’s not just vampires – ghosts, werewolves too.”

Anders paused in his rant, eye trained incredulously on Mitchell’s face as if expecting him to be joking. “This day is getting weirder and weirder,” he muttered. “But seriously, all that exists and you can’t believe there are living reincarnations of gods roaming the lands of New Zealand?”

“I’m a vampire, mate. Religion is toxic to us.”

“Ouch. Well, we are diminished Norse gods so…”

“Norse gods?”

“Yeah, Norse gods. It’s a family thing – we are all descendants of the Norse gods who descended from Asgard and then travelled here to New Zealand hundreds of years ago.” 

“But those are just myths.”

“I would have thought you’d know better than to not believe in myths,” Anders retorted. 

“Touché.” They stared at eachother for a second, before Mitchell grinned. “What a pair. A god and a vampire. Who’d have thought.”

“What a pair indeed. Now – breakfast.”

“I wonder who’d win in a fight,” Mitchell wondered aloud, following Anders into the kitchen.

“I’m less up for putting that to the test, but we could as Olaf.”

“Olaf?”

“Our family oracle. He’s supposed to know all the myths and legends and other crazy facts about this world – though he’s a bit useless and unreliable. Someone was having a laugh when they made bloody Baldr an oracle.”

“Is he a god too?”

“Yeah, Baldr is his god’s name. Do vampires like bacon?”

“I don’t know, do gods?”

“Well, this one does, but I think its less of a Bragi thing and more of a everybody-likes-bacon thing.”

“Is Bragi your god?” Mitchell asked.

“Yup, that’s me. God of poetry.”

“God of poetry?” Mitchell stifled a giggle.

“You can laugh but it comes with some super awesome powers.” Anders turned away from the fridge, looking smug. “At least we get powers.”

“Is that so? And what’s your power?”

“Actually – the reason I asked about hypnosis was that that’s sort of my power. I can convince people to do what I want. Bending mortals to my will through the power of persuasion, so to speak.” 

Mitchell frowned. “Isn’t that – sort of manipulative?”

“Oh yes. And I’m sure previous Bragis have used and abused it muchly. But I never make anyone do anything they really don’t want to do.” Anders glanced at him curiously. “It never seemed to work on you. I wondered about that. Thought I was going soft.”

“What other kind of powers do gods get?”

“My brother Mike, he’s Ullr. God of the hunt and god of games. Not fair, really, he gets two powers, he can find anything he wants and he can’t lose at games. The youngest, Axl, well, in theory he’s the strongest of us all because he’s Odin the Allfather, but he hasn’t really discovered his powers yet. Oh and Ty, get this – he’s the god of all that’s dark and cold. Tough luck, huh?”

“I feel like we’d get along,” Mitchell muttered and Anders laughed.

“There’s goddesses too but I really don’t want to talk about them.” The bacon sizzled as Anders lowered it into the pan. Mitchell took over cracking eggs and heating up another pan to scramble in them in as Anders pulled out mugs and coffee.

“What’s it like? Being a god?” 

Anders paused. “It’s hard to tease them apart sometimes. Sometimes feels like – some kind of split personality disorder.”

“I know what you mean,” Mitchell reflected. 

“It’s great though. I can’t wait for our powers to be fully recovered and we can walk around as Gods among men once again.”

“What?” Mitchell looked confused. 

“Oh boy. If you think this is confusing, wait til you hear the whole story...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all and any kudos/feedback/comments welcomed :) hope you all enjoyed! X


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